


Cabin Comfort

by GhostGarrison



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Self-cest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 03:42:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2373221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostGarrison/pseuds/GhostGarrison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean isn't opposed to helping his future self get a little self-satisfaction, and it's a little easier and much more fun when there's actually two of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cabin Comfort

Dean sleeps in the cabin of his future self--so his own cabin, technically. This whole time-jumping, other-self thing is just way too confusing. It's like a movie or something, like _Back to the Future_ except way less cool.

He's alone in the small cabin, sprawled out on a thin mattress on the floor, surrounded by his future self's meager personal affects. Dean knows they're in the middle of the apocalypse and that he's never been one to have a lot of keepsakes but _damn_ , this guy has next to nothing.

The cabin isn't at all like Castiel's cabin, all draped in beads and covered wall to wall, floor to ceiling in little knick-knacks collected over their travels and supply raids. It seems that the angel--no, ex-angel--has become a hoarder of keepsakes of his own fall into the despairing pit that is humanity.

He's only dosing off when he hears the distant footsteps of heavy boots against the creaking wooden steps up to the cabin. His reflexes should have him up and off the ground, looking to see who it is, but he's tired from his time-skip and taking in all this new information all day about the future. It's only when the springy mattress dips beside him that he wakes up enough to know who it is.

"Thought you were gonna find some other bed to sleep in," Dean quips, rousing from his sleepy state but not bothering to turn his head to look at the other Dean sliding in behind him. "Riza, or somethin'."

He hasn't shared a bed with another man since he used to share a bed with Sammy, all those years ago. The thought of his brother hurts and singes at the bottom of his heart. For a brief moment, he allows himself to think of how Sam died in this hell of a world, how he was taken down by a croat.

"She didn't exactly want to see me tonight."

"Ahh," Dean hums, eyebrows lifting slightly. "Kicked out, huh? Gonna get blue balls that way."

He smirks when his future self doesn't reply, but it quickly dissipates as the other Dean snakes his arms around his waist, pulling him back across the mattress until they're flush together.

"Woah, man," Dean says, squirming a little but future Dean's grip is steely strong and it occurs to Dean that himself in the future is considerably stronger than he is now. "It's me--I mean, it's you. I'm not Riza."

He can feel the other Dean's nose bump against the back of his neck, warm breath blowing across the sensitive skin there and it makes him shudder. Calloused hands skim slowly down the flat of his stomach, firing up Dean's mind unwittingly when they dip slightly under the waistband of his pants.

There's something hard against his lower back and for a moment, he thinks that his future self has taken a gun to bed before he realizes that it's his dick that's a hard line against his backside. It should make him want to roll away, to elbow or push his future self to back off, but the warm hands of the man are tracing a very familiar path across the jut of his hips down to the v of his groin, just like he does when he--

 _Oh_.

"Are you trying to..." he asks, trailing off as those hands go further underneath the waistband of his borrowed linen pajama pants. It's exactly how he begins when he gets himself off, always working himself up with a bit of foreplay before going to town.

The other Dean doesn't offer an answer but instead hooks two thumbs under the elastic of the pants and dragging them slowly down his hips. The friction is really getting to him and his skin raises in bumps as he fully realizes what is going to happen.

And the weird thing is, he's not exactly adverse to it.

His cock is half hard when it reaches the cool night air of the cabin, just like it would be when he'd get himself off alone. The other Dean's hands are still rubbing across the soft expanse of skin of his pelvis, just above his dick. It's titillating--no one else but himself has touched him this way, with such care and attention to what he likes. But what does he expect? Technically it's himself that is doing it.

He breathes out a sigh of relief when his other self's hand wraps around the base of his dick, holding it with his thumb and middle finger and giving it several good firm tugs until he's hard. At this point, he's pretty sure he doesn't want the other man to stop. It's not gay if it's... your future self giving you a handjob in an alternate apocalyptic future...?

The other Dean's hand, now slick with what he'd like to think is spit, flies across his dick, working it exactly how he'd do it himself. Strong grip, friction, base to tip with a little twist at the end.

Dean is moaning at the touch--it's so much better when it's not his own hand doing it, but still doing everything he prefers--and his hips start rolling into the other Dean's encircled fingers. The silent cabin is now full of Dean's utterances of "ah" and "more" and little groans of pleasure that he's never heard himself make. He sounds needy, but his future self's perfect handjob is something he's definitely needy for.

He comes across the other Dean's fist with a shout, hips stuttering in their motion a few times before he melts back.

"I guess I should return the fav-- _oh!_ " Dean begins, thinking he could probably give a handjob to his other self but he's rudely interrupted by future Dean pushing him to roll over to face him.

"What--?" Dean asks, only to have his question answered a few seconds later.

The future him has pushed his own pants down far enough to release his cock, hard and curved up just like his own. Not that he expected it to look any different. They are the same person after all.

Pressing his hips forwards, the other Dean rocks his cock against Dean's pelvis, gaining speed and rhythm as time goes on. He begins to rock back, giving his other self something to work with. He hasn't rutted against another person since that one cheerleader in the janitor's closet back in the eleventh grade, but it feels nice even though his own cock is soft and spent from his previous orgasm.

The sounds coming from the other Dean are soft and breathy, like he doesn't want to be heard. It's understandable really, especially given the situation they're in. Most of the cabins don't have doors anymore, and privacy is something long given up at this point.

But it's those very same sounds that Dean wants to hear more of. It's like listening to a recording of himself getting off, but somehow it's even better than he ever thought it could be. The hitches in the other Dean's breath, the sighs of pleasure, the short sounds of what appear to be suffocated yelps cut off short--god, Dean needs to hear more.

They're rutting together feverishly, hips rolling and legs tangling together. The other Dean's chin is tucked against Dean's collarbone and he can feel the man's lips move against the skin and bone there with every delicious sound he makes.

Finally, the other Dean comes against his stomach, come painting stripes across Dean's abdomen. The man melts against Dean, who warmly welcomes him into an embrace. He curls his arms around his future self like he would hold someone dear, close and strong.

The whole situation should weird him out past the point of no return--he's five years into the future, his brother is dead, the apocalypse is upon them, he just essentially had gay sex with an alternate version of himself--but somehow this feels right.

"So," he begins, clearing his throat quietly in the eerie silence of the dark cabin, voice light in jest. "Would that count as masturbation?"

He's not exactly expecting a reply but one comes in the form of the gruff voice of the other Dean, words muffled a little since his face is still tucked against Dean's neck. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

**Author's Note:**

> come find me and more Selfcest Sunday things on Tumblr @ GhostGarrison


End file.
